Today is a bad day

Today is a bad day. I won’t explain why in a public post, and really the
reasons don’t matter for what I’m about to say. It’s sufficient for me to
mention that my mood is the worst it’s been in a very long time. For those of
you not familiar with my history, you might want to start
with my open letter here.

I should be sorting accommodation in Seattle this weekend. I should be
processing photos. I should be writing talk proposals, and hacking code, and
catching up with friends. But right now nothing seems appealing.
The least horrible thing feels like going home, laying down, and just trying
not to exist for a while. I’m writing this through a fog of
psychomotor retardation, and so I’m pretty sure if I
wanted to, I could do exactly that.

But I won’t.

I can’t seem to find much joy right now, but I can share my experiences. People
seem to take comfort in knowing they’re not alone in how they feel. If anyone
else can find solace in these words, then at least some good has come from all
this.

I describe myself as “recovering” from depression. While the episode itself has
gone, so many lingering effects remain. One of those, one that I struggle with
most often, is loneliness and social isolation.

If you find this ironic, then you’re not alone. I find this ironic. I’m well
aware of how easy it for me to make friends. I’m well aware of how well
connected I am. I know many people—including myself—view me as a social hub.
That’s why it’s even more important that I write about this.

My support network is not what it used to be. That’s not because I have
terrible friends who don’t care about me; my friends are still the lovely
people they’ve always been. But I’ve changed. I’ve become more withdrawn,
I’ve become less willing to share, less willing to communicate, less willing to
ask for help.

There’s a greater irony here; feeling lonely makes me less willing into
interact with others. All the typical thoughts are here; I know I’m not much
fun in this state, I don’t want to burden others, I’m scared that if I ask for
help it’ll be rejected. But there’s something else, something I’m struggling to
analyse; the desire to interact with others just isn’t there. Interacting with
people just feels like work.

Despite the irony of my loneliness increasing behaviours that cause more
loneliness, I’m not surprised. I’m very certain I’m not alone here. I don’t
have my library around, but back home I’m sure have a paper that demonstrates
this is common. Citations welcome.

There’s a further level of irony here, too. Denise Paolucci has done some
excellent talks on Impostor Syndrome. It’s very common in my
circles for people feel that they’re somehow faking being a programmer, or an
artist, or a writer. When they receive praise, they think “if only you
knew…”. Well, I very often feel that I’m faking being me. It’s the exact
same feeling, the exact same thoughts. Someone says how cheerful I look, or how
easily I manage people, or how interesting I am, and I think “if only you knew
that I’m totally faking this…”

If you’ve found me to be quiet recently, if you’ve found that I talk to you
less than I used to, if you’ve found our conversations less satisfying and more
shallow, then I’m sorry. I really am. I don’t want to be this way. I don’t want
to shy away from interactions. I don’t want to be less of a friend. I truly
don’t. I am working on this, but it’s hard work, and sometimes I stumble.

And when I do stumble, I try to write things like this. Thank you for sticking
with me while I find my feet again.